From Dream to Dream
by Trickster-jz
Summary: In a galaxy where Jaina & the late Davin Fel were close friends and almost more, Jag and Jaina meet. Better summaryexplanation inside. DavJayJag.
1. Default Chapter

**From Dream to Dream (a.k.a "Loyalty to a Dead Man")****   
By Trickster-Jaina-Fel   
  
  
  
Disclaimer**: I don't own Jaina, Jag, Davin, Cherith, etc, etc. Reality sucks. Btw, I chose "From Dream to Dream" as the official title upon hearing "One Day I'll Fly Away" (I think that was the title, anyway; it was sung by Nicole Kidman) in "Moulin Rouge". I don't own that either.   
  
**Summary**: in a galaxy where Jaina Solo and the late Davin Fel were close friends, and nearly something more before Davin's death, Jagged Fel and Jaina Solo meet. This collection is mostly EU compliant, but with AU emotions/thoughts, and an original undercurrent.   
  
**Keywords**: NJO, vignettes, angst, drama, romance, friendship, slight AU   
  
**Characters**: Jaina Solo, Jagged Fel, and Davin Fel (maybe Cherith Fel and Kyp Durron later)   
  
**Author's Note**: This started out as just a little side-ways friendship from when I first discovered fan fiction, and was still a loyal "J/J'er" (yes, there really was a time when that was true :P). In the original story, Jaina and Davin met for the first time when Jaina came to visit Jag (in an AU where Jaina and Jag met as children). Davin answered the door, and was the unlucky bearer of bad news: Jag had been called back to his training. Slowly, this became a regular occurrence in my series "Of Imperials and Rebels" (or something like that…) and Jaina and Davin became close friends. Inevitably, and quite without my consent, the two became closer. As their relationship grew, the series changed, until I saw Davin and Jaina as the original pairing, rather than Jaina and Jag. I played with this in my mind, until I began to wonder, why would a Chiss-raised colonel go out into the crowd to greet a stranger? Certainly, these things don't usually happen – and what about Jaina and Davin? It was about then that I re-read _Dark Journey_ and I, Davin, and Jaina were faced with harsh reality: Davin did not survive the war even until Ithor. Suddenly, events took on a new light. It was very easy to see Jag, who I imagined had been very close to his older brother, and Jaina, who I imagined seeing Davin in Jag, doing what they did from Ithor on.   
  
**AN2**: Jag is a year-and-a-half older than Jaina; Davin and Lissa are a year older than Jag; Cherith is a year younger than Jaina. Lissa Fel died a year before Davin.


	2. The Letter

**The Letter**   
  
  
{Davin's POV}   
  
_Dear Jay,   
  
I heard about Chewie; I'm really sorry. If you need anything – anything at all – just call me. I can get time off and come to see you right away. It's no problem at all and – _  
  
  
Sith, why don't I just scrawl "I AM YOUR LOVE SLAVE" all over the datapad? Honestly, have I _always_ been this much of a sap around Jay? Hmm…I don't think I want an answer to that. Okay Fel, keep your cool. She's a friend. Your best friend. Who you happen to like a _lot_ more than you should. Show some nice, _friendly_ – keyword here being "friendly" – support. This isn't one of your mother's holovids. There's time for mushiness later. Jeez, try to maintain _some_ façade of dignity.   
  
  
**DELETE**   
  
_Jay,   
  
Heard about Chewie on the news after coming in from training. Sorry. If you need to talk, I'll split the comm bill with you, hehe. How's your dad doing? Man, he must be a basket case…how long were he and Chewie together? Since before the Rebellion?_   
  
  
Hmm…maybe I shouldn't talk about that…might open more wounds… Ok, I officially hate writing letters. I'm gonna stop. Right. Now. Yep. I'll call her. Whoever invented letters was really stupid.   
  
*pause*   
  
  
**DELETE**   
  
_Jay,   
  
Heard about Chewie – are you alright? If you need to talk, I'll split the comm bill with you. I'm home for vacation (if there isn't an emergency and I get pulled back in), but I'll be back on duty again from the 1st of the 6th month to the 31st of the 9th month. You know my comm there, right? If you don't, just call Cherry. She might talk your ear off, but at least she won't make you pay for the information.   
  
So what's the scoop on the NR's war, anyway? The Chiss are ignoring it, so I'm pretty oblivious (of course). All I know is that the invaders are an alien race called the…Yujan Vong, was it? Something like that. Tell me what they look like and I'll get a rough image to use for my dart board. Can't do much else, unfortunately. You know I'd be down in the Known Regions in a second if I could. Someone needs to take care of those kriffing son-of-sith 'Vong.   
  
By the way, how's your boy-toy, Zekk? _  
  
  
Is that too jealous? Too obvious? Arrrrgh…I hate letters. Grr. There's nothing wrong with calling Zekk her 'boy-toy', is there? I mean, I know they haven't even kissed, and I don't think they've even seen each other in a while (he ran off to be a bounty hunter; figures). Still…hm. I mean, she knows I like her, and she's even said that she likes me too…but nothing's official. Ugh. Why, oh why, couldn't I be good with words, like Cherry?   
  
  
**DELETE**   
  
_Have you heard from Zekk lately? I know how much you miss him. I'm sure he'll be okay (don't you dare deny that you're worried! I know you too well). If you have the chance to talk to him, tell him that if he ever hurts you, I'll make the vongin' (hey! I have a new swear word! Ha – bet General Oothat won't be able to reprimand me for using it, either!) son-of-sith wish he'd never left the Shadow Academy.   
  
Hey, if you have a break in the next few months, you should come out to Nirauan for a visit. Who knows, you might even get to see Jag for once (yeah, right. He's never around anymore). Cherry's dying to see you again…I swear, the kid's adopted you. And of course Mom's been asking after you. I think she's adopted you too. Oh well, it'll make it easier when I ask you – _  
  
  
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where did _that_ come from? Not bringing that up for several more years, remember Fel? The two of you made a deal – room and friendship until you're both older and ready to commit. Mother would slice'n'dice you if you did anything else. Probably needs a decade to plan the engagement party. Agh. I didn't just think that. No, no, no…   
  
  
**DELETE**   
  
_Cherry and Yiven are dying to see you again; Yiven probably wants to show off his new flight certificate, and Cherry is on break from the Drama Academy and constantly practicing her fainting, so beware. Mom might be able to bail you out, but who knows when her odd get-'em humour will come out? Pack your sleeping bag. Oh, and Yiven says that you have to demonstrate more lightsaber techniques for him. I swear the guy thinks he's a Jedi, like you. He has a crush on you, you know. Must be a Fel thing – maybe it's a good thing Jag hasn't met you; I have enough trouble beating Yiven back, j/k.   
  
Seriously, though, I hope you can make it. I miss you; it's been a while since we've talked face to face. Take care of yourself, Sweetheart. If you get taken out, I'll never let you rest in peace. Vape as many 'Vong as you can for me. I'll try to get Dad to let the Spikes come out and help the NR – he might even let us out in a year, if he thinks you're in trouble. He likes you, haha – thinks you're a good influence on me and Cherry. Y'know, help us stop acting like stiff-necked Chiss.   
  
Anyway, Mom's calling me…Don't know why – probably for an early dinner, or something. Or there's been another emergency and I'm back on the roster. *Sigh* Well, if I'm back on duty I'll holo you from HQ.   
  
All my love,   
Dav._


	3. The Dream

**The Dream**   
  
  
{Jaina's POV}   
  
_"Jedi don't dream; they have visions."_   
  
I've heard that said many times before – from my uncle, from Tionne, kriff, even my mother, who turned her back on her Jedi heritage, has said it once or twice. Yoda's "Do or do not, there is no try" is – as anyone could tell you – takes the "Most Oft' Used Jedi Phrase" cake, but the dream one comes pretty kriffing close.   
  
But it's hard to remember that in the middle of a dream, Jedi discipline or no. So when I drifted into the hazy world of subconsciousness, and into a mass of images, sounds and touches, my defences were not up and I entertained the idea that my Jedi masters had been wrong. The idea that what I saw was even only partially a vision.   
  
In this particular "dream", I saw a moment from the last time I had been to Nirauan. Syal and Soontir had gone out for dinner, leaving Dav and I to baby-sit Cherry and Yiven. Cherry, being two years younger than myself, and Yiven, being eleven, went to bed fairly early in the evening. Before you start to think that we took advantage of the relative freedom to shed propriety, I assure you, we didn't. Dav and I have never been very physical – our relationship is one of close friendship, and little more than our emotions grew beyond that.   
  
Still, the night took an almost otherworldly quality, and defences lowered more than usual. Deciding to forgo a holo for companionable quiet, we flipped through the Fel's music selection and found an unlabeled disc, which Dav identified as a "Rilasn Kriet" record. He inserted it into the player, then, surprising me, offered his hand.   
  
He must have asked me if I wanted to dance, though I hardly remember. All I can clearly recall is that within moments he was leading me through a waltz. It was unfamiliar and I had never been particularly graceful, but one of my favourite things about Dav was his laugh and he used it often while I tried to figure out the steps through my own mirth.   
  
Eventually I must have gotten them right, or perhaps Dav and I only gave way to instinct and ignored the original dance steps.   
  
My dream consisted of two scenes – the first and foremost being held by Dav, loved and secure, not knowing anything about how drastically things would change later. Dav tried so hard to be what his father and society demanded of him – the perfect fighter, student, leader, and overall citizen; with me, he had always been a horrible actor. Maybe that was what drew us together in the first place – there had never been any need to be anything other than what we truly were with each other.   
  
With just us, his demeanour lost the necessary stoicism he showed with his pilots, the mildness he presented to his parents, and became simply Dav – my dearest friend, partner, and more. There was no smile on his face when he looked at me as we danced, but his expression was tender, softened and I assumed that my own was the same. The moment was timeless, peace before the storm. I could have spent a good amount of my life just like that – dancing with the man I loved.   
  
The second scene in my dream, however, caused the hair on my neck to stand up straight. I was transported from the Fel living room to the cockpit of a clawcraft, where I could only watch as Dav barked commands at his squadron, the Spikes. Something – the Force? My own instincts? – told me exactly what the odds of this dogfight were – and they weren't pretty.   
  
The 'something' swelled up within me, freezing my blood, cutting off my voice, but I could not speak, nor even understand what was wrong.   
  
There was a fighter on Dav's tail – it fired repeatedly, attempting to cut away at Dav's shields. Dav swerved, flipped – my subconscious received a lesson in perfect manoeuvring.   
  
I was becoming dizzy from Dav's spinning, and concentrated on finding a way to steady myself. I couldn't move. I must have made some kind of involuntary noise in my frustration, however, because Dav tensed, and fought his way into a momentary peace, glanced over his shoulder and looked right at me. His eyes widened, but I could see little else through his helmet and face mask.   
  
"Jaina?" he whispered, awestruck.   
  
I was caught up in the dream; I wanted to reach out to him, touch his hair or shoulder, and ask him what was going on. I had forgotten, you see.   
  
Jedi don't dream; they have visions.   
  
I never had a chance – assuming I had the ability to move my mouth – to reply to his whisper. A painful lurch shook the cockpit and I awoke with a start, a silent cry on my lips.   
  
I didn't have to check the Force to know Dav was gone.   
  
My heart was already screaming it.


	4. The Intruder

**The Intruder**  
  
  
{Jag's POV}   
  
I saw her first at my home. She was holding a sobbing Cherith, but her own eyes were blank. At the time, I hadn't realized who she was – I thought she was just one of Cherith's many friends, trying to give some flimsy excuse of support. I didn't care, then. I hated her on principle, hated that she was _here_, during a time of private, family grief.   
  
I glared at her as I walked past, but she barely seemed to notice. Though the 'Intruder' murmured comforting nothings to my sister, patted her shoulder, and let Cherith soak her shirt with tears, the 'intruder' just stared at nothing, appearing to be moving automatically. It didn't occur to me that she might be grieving for Davin – I just saw her blankness as another insult. She couldn't even pay any real attention to her friend, I thought.   
  
That night, I punched through a glass window. To this day, I don't know if I was really aware of it; I only remember being so angry with my older brother, my idol, for dying, for leaving me, that I struck out. My mother walked in and saw me staring at my bloody arm. She broke down in tears again, because she knew why I had done what I had. The girl appeared again, then, and glared at me. Now I know it was because in her own grief she hadn't the patience to see me hurt my mother, but then her derisive look fanned my hatred. Her distant brandy eyes were judging me, shaming me. She was probably mad because I woke her up, I thought crossly.   
  
I was blind to how she soothed my poor, broken mother, who was usually so strong, and how she supported my mother to her room. I ignored the way the two embraced, but if a stranger had walked by, they probably would have mistaken the two for a mother and daughter saying goodnight.   
  
Another reason to hate the then-anonymous intruder.   
  
When my mother was sleeping once more, the girl grabbed me by the arm and dragged me down to the kitchen, where she crisply bandaged my wound. The silence between us was cold, our distaste for the other heightening the tension to almost unbearable levels. Still, when she looked at me with her empty eyes, I thought I saw a spark of empathy.   
  
I hated her for being able to sympathize with my pain although my hatred was probably obvious even to the rocks in my mother's garden.   
  
The next morning was Davin's funeral and I was a basket case. I locked myself in my room, swearing viciously at anyone and everyone, refusing to go the funeral. Logically, I knew Davin was gone, but I didn't want to face it – _couldn't_ face it. Though my father pounded on my door and demanded that I come in a broken voice that I had never heard him use before, though my mother pleaded, and though the cold voice of the intruder told me that if I didn't come out she would fry my 'cowardly, fair-haired, stubborn ass, Chiss-wannabe brains', I defied reason for once in my life.   
  
I couldn't go to the funeral – if I did, I would break down.   
  
Finally they left, though I had a large, blackened hole in my door from when the intruder took her blaster to my door. My father stopped her (though he only seemed to be doing it because it was the 'right' thing to do) before she got in, however.   
  
I can't explain what I did during the two-hour period that I spent locked up in my room. I think I threw things (with the 'Intruder' as my imagined target), I probably argued with my brother as if he were still there, and more than likely I screamed at myself for being unable to save Davin.   
  
The only thing I remember clearly is that I broke into Davin's room. I went over his things, looked at the old holos that cluttered the room, studied the unfinished homework piled on his desk. A datapad came to my attention and I picked it up. A quick scan identified it as a letter and, looking over my shoulder as if expecting my brother to burst in, demanding that I explain what I was doing, I read it.   
  
It was addressed to 'Jay', a familiar enough name. Davin had had scores of friends, but his closest friend, he had claimed, was a New Republic girl named Jaina Solo. The two had met through some mishap several years back. Something to do with Davin stowing away on a ship and almost being thrown into jail. I hadn't met the girl myself, as my schooling and piloting kept me away from home often. I recall noticing that Davin's face would always get soft and content whenever he brought up 'his' Jaina. I hated and loved her, for that. Hated her for taking up such a special place in my brother's heart, as if we were competing for the biggest chunk of Davin's heart. Loved her for making him so happy, for – probably – giving him the love that no one else could offer him.   
  
The letter's topics ranged from asking if she was okay, to how her family was dealing with the war, to talk about some guy named Zekk, and planning their next meeting. A yearning to be there with her, helping her fight against "those kriffing 'Vong" was expressed a couple times. The concluding paragraph became more personal, however, and I put the data card down, a little ashamed of my nosiness.   
  
The sound of a speeder motor broke into my thoughts, and I didn't have to look outside to know that my family was returning from the funeral. The urge to run, to hide from them and friends' pitying expressions filled me, and I retreated out the backdoor before anyone even opened the front door.   
  
I wandered about the grounds until I found myself at the clearing where they had buried my brother. I hadn't wanted to see the grave, hadn't wanted anything to do with it, but my feet were guided by something other than my conscious, rational mind.   
  
I stopped abruptly while I was still amongst the trees. The reason for my halt was not hesitance to see Davin's grave, but from the sight that met my bewildered eyes.   
  
In a sobbing heap by my brother's tombstone, the 'intruder' had broken out of her numbness.   
  
I don't know how long I stood there, watching her cry in a way that I could not. When at last her weeping eased, she wiped her eyes and stilled. "You can come out, you know," she whispered, causing me to start. I hadn't known that my presence had been noticed.   
  
When I didn't answer, she shifted, so that she was looking at me. "I was just…I needed to say my goodbye privately, I guess." Her voice was hoarse from crying. She slanted away from me, her fingers reaching up to trace the characters on the tombstone. I wanted to blast her fingers for that; Davin was _my_ brother – why should a stranger be able to grieve when I couldn't?   
  
"Why are you here?" I demanded, stepping into the clearing. "You're not from the Chiss colony." I realized it only now.   
  
She shook her head and smiled crookedly; there was more bleakness than humour in the gesture. "Dav and I…we were very close." She straightened suddenly, her eyes catching mine hesitantly. "He talked about you lots. He liked you best of his siblings, you know."   
  
I knew; I hated that she did, too. "Who are you?"   
  
"Jaina." She looked away from me; now, I know that she was hiding a new set of tears. "Dav – Dav called me 'Jay', though. You'd know me by that name."   
  
I froze as everything suddenly made sense. Thrawn's teeth. So this…this was Davin's best friend. This was the girl he'd fallen in love with, if the last bit of that kriffing letter was any indication. And I had hated her for the spark of empathy she felt for me.   
  
"I apologize, Miss, I – I didn't realize…" I stuttered awkwardly. We had never met before this.   
  
We should have.   
  
She smiled wanly. "Yeah, well. You were never home, were you?" Was there bitterness in her tone? To this day, I don't know for sure.   
  
"I guess not."   
  
She stood, retreating behind her mask of impassiveness once more. Her eyes lingered a long moment on Davin's grave, her fist clenched, and I knew that her grieving, while hidden, would not be over for a long time. "I should go. Let you say good-bye; he was your brother, after all." She turned slowly, heading back for the house.   
  
"Wait!"   
  
She paused, but did not look at me. "Yes?"   
  
I swallowed. "When are you leaving?"   
  
"I have to be back for a mission in a few days. I'll need to leave right away to be there on time."   
  
I nodded, looking from Davin's grave, to his best friend. _He loved you! Do you know that?_ I wanted to ask her. I didn't. "There's a letter for you, on Davin's desk," I offered instead. "I think it's finished – I didn't really read it." _At least, not all of it_, I amended silently. "He'd want you to have it."   
  
"Thank you." The words were quiet, but she looked over her shoulder once, and I almost drowned in the gratitude that filled her eyes. "I'll be sure to…pick it up." She left then; perhaps she understood that while she was there – the very girl that I had practically competed with for my brother's love and attention – I could never grieve for Davin.   
  
When I returned, she was gone, and so was the letter.   
  
She left a card with the words "Thank you" on my pillow.   
  
Finally, I cried.

**Replies to Reviews :D**:

**Garnet Turner** – thanks :D hopefully I'll be posting pretty regularly…I have a few of these written already, so I just need to space 'em out and then post them :)

**Jaina** – I know :( I'm so mean…originally I was going to start just with this 'viggie' (The Intruder), but then I thought I should introduce dav properly. Unfortunately, that means I had to break a few hearts, especially on JC :| :P

~TJF


	5. Coulda Woulda Shoulda

**Reviews**:

**Aniamifan1988** – thanks :D when I first wrote this, I wasn't sure how well it would be received (okay, so I sat in front of my computer waiting for the rotten tomatoes :P) but it seems to have been taken surprisingly well :)

**Satan's Advocate **– lol, thanks.  I'm not Jag's biggest fan (buzz! Understatement!) so when I realized I'd have to write him for this, I tried to shove his original attitude back down his throat, if only a little…glad to hear it worked :) And don't worry – Jay and Jag will keep "the heat" ;)

**Jaina** – thanks :D lol, I was just about fed to the masses on JC when I posted The Dream, so don't worry, your reaction is apparently "normal" ;) thanks!  And yeah, jag's very thick :P

**Aaron** – thank you! Just a warning, though – I'm going to treat Jaina and jag's relationship as realistically as I can…I hope you like the results, but I'll try to warn you ahead of time if the j/j'ers on JC went ballistic, lol

**---------------------------------***

**Ok, this one is set during Dark Tide: Ruin. I didn't have the book on hand when i wrote this, so it's kind of from memory and what I saw in other vignettes about this scene   
  
Anyway, it's been a year since Dav's death.**   
  
********   
  
**Coulda Woulda Shoulda**   
  
  
{Jaina's POV}   
  
The squadron of strange ships swooped in and I immediately recognized them as clawcrafts, the Chiss' fighter ships. My breath caught; Dav…Dav could be in one of those ships! Perhaps the one to my left – the one that was doing so many impossible manoeuvres – Dav always had been a show off, after all, especially when he knew I was watching. A smile stretched across my face, despite the danger in the Rogues' current position.   
  
As I was debating whether or not I should ask the name of the squadron, a conceding voice crackled over the comm, saying, "Don't worry Rogues, we have you now. We'll get you home safely."   
  
It was the voice that brought me crashing down into reality. Dav had been the leader of his squadron, the Spikes. It should have been Dav that answered me. Dav _should_ have been leading. Should have…but he wasn't here; he was gone. _Gone, gone, gone, gone…_ The word echoed in my mind, taunting me. Gone, gone, gone, gone. He was never coming back. _Never, never, never._   
  
"Oh shut up," I muttered, wishing I had the security of a few moments to rub the sudden image of Dav's face out of my eyes. Taking a deep breath, I flipped my comm on decisively. "Who are you?" I demanded the clawcrafts. I was aware that my anger, at myself for forgetting, and at the Chiss commander for not being Dav, seeped into my voice, but I didn't care. It could easily be mistaken for injured pride; pilots were notoriously cocky, and few knew about my friendship with Dav. The fingers of my left hand tapped against my thigh as I awaited the Chiss commander's reply – if he deigned himself benevolent enough to grace us mere mortals with his enlightening reply. _Why did you have to show up? Couldn't you have waited, say, fifty more years, when I might have been over Dav?_   
  
The returning voice was tinged with chilliness, and lathered in arrogance. "We're simply the best pilots in the galaxy." _All the more reason to hate you, you supercilious son of a Hutt. Ever heard of the Rogues?_ An angry spark of static burst through the comm channel, as if reprimanding my own cockiness and language, then the voice continued. "We are a Chiss House phalanx, on loan to the New Republic by my father, General Baron Soontir Fel."   
  
_By my father…Oh_ Sith, _no_. I tried to shut down the branch of thought, but it was too late. Suddenly, I knew _exactly_ who was in the fancy-flying clawcraft to my left. I flipped my end of the comm off abruptly, teeth clenched. Colonel Darklighter ordered the Rogues back to the _Tafanda Bay_ and I shot at one more coralskipper, then jerked my joy stick and brought my ship around.   
  
I had hoped that, with time, I would become distracted from my grief. My mother, noticing the change Davin's death had brought in me, had encouraged Colonel Darklighter to allow me to join the Rogues, despite my young age. It had helped – I was busy and could more easily keep my thoughts from straying in dangerous areas – but I had never been very good at mourning. I tended to ignore the problem within myself, which was, of course, only a temporary relief. There had been little time since the war to break the habit. I was on unsteady ground, and had been since Dav's funeral. The Spikes arrival threatened to send me tumbling through the glass-like support I was keeping myself afloat on.   
  
_Kriff it, Fel; why'd you come, anyway?_ I berated myself as soon as the thought wheedled into my mind; it was _wonderful_ that the Chiss were here – even I wasn't cocky enough to deny it. The Empire, and the Chiss, especially, were incredible fighters; if they allied with us, the New Republic would almost certainly win this war – at least, more quickly and with less losses than we would alone. I should have been quietly ecstatic that the Chiss were willing to help.   
  
I wasn't.   
  
It almost killed me to admit it, but I was actually selfish enough to wish the Chiss would just stay in the Unknown Regions until I could finish, at least, my first round of grieving. Even more, I would have given anything – _anything_ – to hear Dav call me 'sweetheart' again. The letter Jag had told me about, the one that was, in fact, currently under my pillow in my barracks, had helped. But it had also made the depth of what had happened sink in.   
  
I was never going to hear from, see or touch Dav again. He wouldn't flatter me until I was blushing to the roots of my hair, he wouldn't hold me as tightly as he dared, as if he was going to break me, and I'd never feel the anticipation that would have come just before our first kiss. We had only begun to move beyond friendship – like all people our age, we had thought we had all the time in the world. We had agreed to take it slowly, to date other people before anything was settled.   
  
All the things we would have, could have, _should have_ had time to do…all the dreams were for nothing.   
  
_Gone, gone, gone…_   
  
I tried to force my mind away from it, tried to pretend that landing my X-wing would suddenly take monumental effort on my part even if I did focus. I concentrated on every, tiny sound, trying to drown my memories in inconsequential thoughts.   
  
My landing was so smooth it would have made the Chiss gape in awe.   
  
Dav and I had simmed together whenever we got the chance (not often) and he had always said, half-jokingly, "No matter how tough your flight, you can always come down in a perfect landing, and claim it was the guy next to you – the one that landed sloppily, of course – that flew so horribly. Despite their big talk, commanders tend to have the IQ of a tooth pick."   
  
Realizing that I was slipping into the past again, I moaned, my head sinking until my chin hit my chest. Pulling my flight gloves and helmet off, I rubbed my eyes viciously. "Hey, you okay, Sticks?" someone yelled.   
  
I realized one of the mechanics had already placed a latter against my X-wing. They'd be wondering why I hadn't gotten out yet. The overpart of my X-wing's cockpit was already unlatched, and I only had to push it open to get out. I paused, staring at the tiny holo I had wedged in a small compartment by my knee. It wasn't activated, and I didn't plan on turning it on. I was messed up emotionally as it was.   
  
Still, I couldn't imagine flying without Dav's holo nearby. I had always flown better with him nearby; he had joked that he was my lucky charm.   
  
Maybe he was.   
  
I pushed the top of my X-wing up and hopped out, not bothering with the ladder, then pasted my cocky-as-sith-and-just-as-tough face on. Pilots milled about me, most headed for a quick nap. When I was just about to exit the landing bay, the Spikes flew in, and I turned to watch their landing. Spike Leader descended first. He didn't see me, but I tipped my head in acknowledgement anyway. Dav would have wanted me to. When Jagged Fel began his walk toward the door, I retreated to my barracks.   
  
Danya came up beside me, walking briskly to keep up with me. "You okay, Sticks? You look pale," she noted, running a hand through her sweaty, violet hair.   
  
I forced a grin. "I'm fine, Dan; just had a bad case of the 'coulda woulda shoulda's."   
  
I didn't have to look at her to know I was getting the odd-ball eye.   
  
  
  
  
~TJF****


	6. Cheering Me On

Sorry this took so long, guys! One thing after another conspired against me, from my computer, to the internet, to my other fics, to… :P anyway.

**Garnet Turner**: thanks! This thing is kind of weird to write, but fun, so long as I don't thing too much on how I'm going to end it, lol.

**Jaina**: well, thank you :) more to come, but this may eventually get paused, as it is on JC, because I've stumbled into a block on the ending, and the fact that I don't have access to DJ isn't helping… :P

**JediJayaSolo**: :D

**Some of this is taken directly from "Dark Tide: Ruin", especially dialogue. I don't own the book, don't sue.**  
  
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**Cheering Me On**   
  
  
{Jag's POV}   
  
I was nervous, had been since I realized that I would be representing the Chiss. I had not been Spike squadron's leader for long (only since Davin's death), and the role was just becoming comfortable. It has been difficult to earn the Chiss' respect – especially because, in their eyes, not even "Davin's child brother" could meet the standards Davin himself had set.   
  
We – the Spikes – followed the moffs out onto the dais, and I retreated behind a hard mask of impassiveness so that no one would see my trepidation. I was going to mess this up. I was _so_ going to mess up. Thrawn's teeth, why did I agree to this, anyway? The Spikes are pilots, not politicians.   
  
I shook hands with and bowed my way down the line. I was too tense and impatient to deal with politicians, so I bypassed them completely. If I had to fake respect for those blood-sucking creatures, I'd never get through this. Hah, I'd probably knock a few heads and get chucked out of the military before I could blink – _if_ I wasn't court-marshalled for screwing up public relations. I was vaguely aware of surprised, and even angry, murmurs, but I ignored them.   
  
I came to my uncle, whom I had only just met, and bowed in respect. I tensed in surprise when he pulled me into a hug, then released me with a grin. I blinked rapidly for half a second, then pushed my astonishment aside to greet Admiral Pellaeon. My gaze drifted, however slightly, and found a pretty girl wearing Jedi robes, seeming to be on tip-toe, looking at me, eyes wide. It took me a moment to recognize her, and when I did, I swallowed. Jaina Solo – here? I had heard she was in Rogue Squadron now (Mother and Cherith were in constant contact with Jaina, and even Father kept an eye on her), but I had not expected her to be here.   
  
I hesitated a fraction of a second before walking briskly past the Remnant moffs and off the dais, to Davin's friend. When I stopped in front of her, I snapped my head and upper body forward in a bow, not quite as deep as the one I had given to the others, but respectful nonetheless. Davin's friends – whom he had always chosen so carefully – deserved that much from me. I straightened, my spine erect, shoulders tense; it was hard to be this close to someone Davin had cared so much about.   
  
"I am Jagged Fel," I introduced, in case she didn't remember me. We had only met once, after all, and that wasn't a time that people…enjoyed reminiscing about. My eyes met hers for a moment, and I knew that she had recognized me even before I had told her my name. I wondered what Davin had told her about me, then pushed the question aside.   
  
My gaze raked over her and I was dimly aware of her blush. I had barely noticed her at the funeral – at least, I had not taken in what she looked like. I had been rather preoccupied with hating her and my grief.   
  
She was small, and I decided that there was no doubt she had gotten her height from Ambassador Solo. The Jedi robes that she wore fit her loosely, showing only whispers of a figure. She was a little tense, uncertain of why I was in front of her. Perhaps, I thought with an imperceptible flinch, I reminded her of my brother. As children, Davin and I had been so close in looks that people mistook us for twins.   
  
Realizing I was staring, I fought down my embarrassment. "A Jedi, too," I remarked, looking up at her face once again. "Fascinating."   
  
She blinked in confusion, and I had the feeling that was not what she had expected. Had she been waiting for Davin's wink and, "Lookin' good, sweetheart"?   
  
"Too?" she queried.   
  
Her brown eyes unsettled me, and I caught my breath. "In addition to being a superior pilot," I managed, remembering the scores Cherith had waved around in my face smugly after Jaina's last letter.   
  
"One of the top fliers in Rogue Squadron!" my sister had crowed gleefully and perhaps even proudly, as if Jaina was a waif Cherith had adopted and mentored. "You'll meet your match yet, Jag," she taunted. "Imagine, being beat by a 'Rebel' pilot."   
  
Jaina was eyeing me with some scepticism. "You are a difficult kill," I offered, hoping Cherry never got vids of this event. Oh, how she'd love to hold how I used that high a praise for a Rebel over my head…   
  
Jaina surprised me with a soft smile. "You meant that as a compliment," she noted.   
  
I nodded. "Among the Chiss it is high praise indeed. I was only a bit better than you at your age."   
  
If I had been at home, Cherry would have rolled her eyes and teased me. Perhaps the man beside Jaina was channelling my little sister, because he mocked, "Which was what, about a year ago?" Jaina seemed to be fighting down a smirk as she glanced up at the man.   
  
I hesitated half a second; I had not noticed the man, nor had I expected the mockery. A corner of his mouth lifted, however, and I realized the teasing was not mean-spirited, as it would have been, if it had come from a Chiss.   
  
"Yes," I answered, slipping into command voice without realizing it, "just before I took command of my squadron."   
  
General Antilles – my uncle Wedge, that is, but I didn't know if I'd ever get used to calling him that – stepped down from the dais and approached us. "Colonel Fel."   
  
I turned, somewhat grateful for the distraction. I had had little time to practise conversation techniques amongst the solemn Chiss, especially with Rebel pilots, and I was unsure of where to go with the discussion, now that the pleasantries were through. I had walked out on impulse, knowing that Davin would have done the same, were he in my position. Jaina appeared to have welcomed the recognition of our bond, however faint it may be, but that did not quite loosen my tongue. Well, I always had been a taciturn child. Some things never changed.   
  
"Yes, Uncle?"   
  
My uncle glanced at Jaina, offered her a small, fleeting smile, then returned his gaze to me. "You should return to the dais and greet those people you bypassed." He nodded toward Borsk Fey'lya and his confederates. "They're fairly…important."   
  
I could almost see Davin's smirk and I shook my head. "They're politicians," I corrected, my upper lip curling faintly in disgust.   
  
The general lowered his voice. "The impression is that you skipped them because they are not human."   
  
A feeling of self-righteous anger shot through my veins and I turned to face the dais and raised my voice. "If they believe I did not greet them because they are not human, they are stupid. I did not greet them because they are _politicians_."   
  
Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw approval flash in Jaina's eyes and I straightened proudly.   
  
It was almost like Davin was cheering me on.

~TJF


	7. Flights of Fancy

**So. After a year, I've come back to this fic. I had actually planned to leave it the dust, for the same reason I left behind ****Phoenix****—grad is approaching, and if I want to publish…well…I can't really "dabble" excessively in fanfic. However, I was rereading this…and I have more than what I posted, and I miss FD2D. So I'll go up a little further. Because this "fic" is really more a collection of vignettes than a novel, and because it is EU compliant, even when if I disappear for a while, there shouldn't be any real loose ends. And maybe, when KB is well on its way, or even finished, I'll follow through right to my muse's foreseen destination. Meanwhile, I give you…a new post.**

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_x-woman1_: Thanks!

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**Flights of Fantasy****  
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(Jaina's POV)

"What they have done there is unusual."

I turn at the voice, and freeze momentarily when I recognize its owner. Jag – and he looks nervous; probably wants to talk about Davin, Chewie, or some other painful subject. Shavit.

"Pretty much everything the Yuuzhan Vong do is unusual, as far as I'm concerned," I manage, crossing my arms defensively and turning back to the deck. This isn't how I wanted to meet up with Dav's brother again. This morning was a big enough surprise, with him talking to me in the middle of the reception on the _Tafanda__Bay_. At least then I was surrounded by people – there was no chance of a personal conversation or any clumsy attempts to console me, or whatever Chiss-wannabes do when they meet their dead brother's best friend/girlfriend.

"They've spent an hour scanning the thing," I continue, gesturing at the 'Vong shuttle (_they really call that thing a ship?_) that has been causing a mild panic amongst the NR's checkers-of-weird-stuff. "I can't imagine there is much more they can learn without cracking it open," I finish. Good, Solo – just keep the conversation fake and completely impersonal. How can anyone get from 'Vong ships and NR paranoia to Dav?

"There isn't. That's not what they are doing." Jag comes up and stands beside me, his reflection visible in the transparitsteel over the viewport.

He looks so much like Dav – and yet, not at all. Same eyes, but Dav's were warm and almost perpetually dancing. Dav didn't have that scar, or a white streak in his hair. Dav's hair was a few shades lighter; his nose was a little crooked – the consequence of having his nose broken as a child one too many times.

Still, the resemblance is downright uncanny and _not_ what I need to see right now.

He glances at me, then looks away quickly, his eyes latching firmly ahead of him. I wonder if he is really seeing the 'Vong ship and NR mechanics. Somehow I doubt it.

"They don't know what is in there," he continues, "and they're just making sure that if it's harmful, they don't get blamed for releasing it."

Dav would have smirked or winked at me, grass-green eyes laughing. Jag won't look at me, but I know his eyes are impassive. I wonder what Soontir thinks about Jag's solemnity outside of the military.

"You say that as if it's a bad thing to be cautious," I remark.

Jag shakes his head and his lips purse slightly. He has Dav's mouth. "They know they cannot be certain of what is in there," he explains. "All they can do is reduce uncertainty to statistically insignificant levels. What they are wasting is time." His grip on the railing in front of him tightens momentarily, causing his knuckles to turn white.

I wonder if he always keeps his emotions in like this. Dav said that Lissa's death a year ago turned Jag into the perfect Chiss colonel, but, still… I sigh. Well, Dav _did_ warn me about the almost monumental differences between Jag and himself.

"We are at war," he continues and I force myself to pay attention to him. C'mon Solo, Dav liked Jag best – there must be a reason, a common ground they shared. Look for it. Give him a chance. Dav would have wanted you to.

"There is no absence of risk. There are times when one just has to do what needs to be done to win." He sounds almost smug about his insight. Jerk.

I turn to look at him, eyebrow raised. "In theory, you're only two years older than me, but you're talking like you're old enough to be my dad." Or, you know, like you're a phalanx leader, come to enlighten us poor Rebel dumbnuts.

He nods once. "Forgive me. I was judging you based on your accomplishments, not your age."

I blink and my jaw drops. Okay, screw being nice to this stuck-up…_Chiss_. Who does he think he is? "What is _that_ supposed to mean?" I demand. Don't mess with me, bub. If you're going to act like this, you can't hide behind my love for Dav.

The flesh around his eyes hardens. "You are a Jedi. You are a superior pilot in an elite squadron. The dedication and skill required for these things are well known. I made the mistake of assuming too much about you."

I frown, momentarily bewildered. If anyone understands this guy (who must be from another galaxy), would you please give me a hand here? "I'm reading your tracking data, but I still don't have a lock on your target." And if you act all superior because I don't get what you're saying, screw public/Fel relations – I'll send you back to Nirauan sporting a nasty black eye.

He sighs. "In Chiss society, there is no adolescence. Chiss children mature early and are given adult responsibilities quickly. Those of us humans living with them were raised as they were raised." Hello? I was best friends with your brother – I saw it happen. Tell me something I _don't_ know. "Intellectually I knew things were not the same here in the New Republic, but – "

"You think I'm a child?" Black eye, definitely. And how do you feel about a broken nose, Mr. Chiss Wannabe? Maybe your ego will get popped on the snapped bone. "You think I'm soft or something?"

He breaks eye contact and something that looked a sith of a lot like a blush rises on his cheeks. Okay, so embarrassment… Keep this up, and I might find myself having too much fun to send my fist into your face.

He raises a hand to stop my comments, then shakes his head. Somehow, the gesture makes him look more his own age. "Not soft, no, not at all," he corrects. "You have determination and courage, but you lack – "

"Lack what?" I challenge. Just say it, Fel – go ahead, make my day.

He frowns and glances out at the shuttle. "You're not grim."

I'm not – I – what? – oh _Sith_, now that's almost funny. This guy aughta be on the stage. "Um, no, I mean," I stutter, trying to smother a chuckle. "There are times, yes, but being grim takes such a toll." For instance, are those crow eyes you're sporting?

"It does at that." He points toward two men walking across the deck and I recognize them immediately. "My, ah, uncle…when he hugged me at that reception… We'd met barely an hour before, privately, and he was surprised to learn who I was, but in no time after that… Where I come from, there are men that I have never seen smile before, and here he was, in the midst of a difficult situation, and he was happy to meet me. Not because I was an ally, but because I was his sister's son."

Well, duh. Sorry bub, but you can't blame this weird mentality of yours on the Chiss. Dav turned out fine – it's just you. Jag turns to me earnestly, green eyes as confused as his iron spine will allow. "And he accepted me despite the fact that my mother's departure from the New Republic hurt him deeply," he finishes, eyes a little wider than usual.

Alright, I'm not completely immune to the (momentarily) vulnerable bewilderment in those green eyes – so sue me. I reach out and rest a hand on his shoulder. He's the same height as Dav. "Wedge is like that. Most people are," I explain, as if Jag was a child. But perhaps he is, despite his arrogance. He really doesn't understand this, and, realizing that, my earlier anger disappears. I always was a sucker for green eyes. "Life is too harsh not to take what pleasure you can find in it, and certainly learning of his sister and how her life has gone would be wonderful to him. No matter how bad things might be, a joke, a smile, a pat on the back help break the tension." Which I really should start to remember. Kriff. I'll add it to my 'To Do' list.

He raises his chin and I feel his defences repair themselves. "Among the Chiss, celebration is saved until the job is done." He sounds like he's trying to convince himself of that – or am I just putting Dav into his brother? Oh, great. This is bad – this is _very_ bad.

"Even if it is never-ending?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

"If it isn't ended, the celebration is false."

I shake my head. Does he have any idea how silly he sounds? Obviously not. "No, it's necessary." I look at him, at the determination on his face, and have to fight back a shiver. He's no Davin or Ganner, but he's handsome enough, I suppose, in a stern way. Sith, his cockiness might even have its own kind of appeal to someone, somewhere, though it will never hold against Dav's charm. If he could put his arrogance aside, I might even like him.

But he's not Davin, and never can be, no matter how hard he appears to be trying. Despite how he tries to do what he thinks Davin would do – regardless of how he tries to be nice to me.

He looks over at me when I pull my hand away, and half smiles. "The Chiss, despite the impression I might have given you, _are_ a thoughtful people. Deliberate, calculating, but not above a flight of fantasy or two. They are not averse to wondering where they would be, had life been different. Whom they would have met, how they would have met, what would have become of them."

What would have happened if I had never met Dav? I shy away from the question immediately. I don't want to think about it. Regardless of the grief I'm fighting through, do I regret knowing him, loving him? No. Definitely not.

Jag's looking at me expectantly and though I want to follow my trail of thought, I ask, "And you mention this because?"

"Because…" He hesitates, then looks out at the deck, avoiding my eyes. "I was wondering what Uncle Wedge would have thought of my older brother."

I picture Dav – the way he looked at me while we danced that night so long ago; his grin, which flashed so often; his laugh, which always made me smile. I see, too, how his brow would crinkle when he looked over something that bothered him. The way he commanded his squadron and the respect of his pilots.

I know exactly what Wedge would have thought of Dav.

I smile and look out at the deck. "The only problem with those flights of fancy is that life never works as cleanly as we'd like. Sometimes a meeting is just a meeting." I remember how Dav looked, face pressed against the bars of that jail cell years and years ago, when we first met. How quickly we had become friends when I distracted the guard by showing him my mom's lightsaber, so Dav could escape. "Other times," I continue softly, gazing not at Wedge on the deck, but at the ghosts of yesterday, "it's a prelude."

He laughs lightly, bringing me out of my reverie. "Had I said that, you would have accused me of talking as if I were your father's age again."

I smile gently. When Jag smiles, I can see Dav in him. Though I might regret it later, I'm glad I didn't punch him; I would have missed his smile if I had. "I might well have, but probably not." I don't glance at him, but I do look at his reflection. "The nice thing about being an adolescent is being able to make mature decisions when you need them and being able to just flow along with life when you don't."

I know he's looking at me, but I continue to stare into the distance, remembering.

When he leaves, I barely notice.

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**-Tjz**


	8. Potential Enemy

**Potential Enemy (or, Darth Vader's Granddaughter)**

(Leia's POV)

Kyp veered and circled wide, closing in on the frigate above us. Streams of red light poured from his X-wing and pelted the enemy ship. The dovin basal absorbed most of Kyp's shots in miniature gravity wells and dodged nearly all the rest through a series of deft, economical movements.

"Not bad," Han muttered, frowning at the midsized 'Vong ship, which suddenly pulled away and described a tight, rising loop.

I clutched Han's arm, eyes widening. "It's coming right into your line of fire!"

"Yeah." I could almost feel the smirk he was trying to keep down and I shot him an incredulous glare. What on Alderaan did he think he was doing? He ignored my glower and I sighed. Well, I just _had_ to fall in love with a scoundrel, didn't I?

He shook off my grip on his arm and reached for the intraship comm. "The big one's mine, Mara. You can pick off anything it brings our way."

"You're the captain," Mara replied.

My mind cleared as I realized what path Han's thoughts were taking. "Jaina?" I queried, pointing at the mottled rock-like frigate. "In that enemy ship?"

"One way to find out," he replied, voice taunt.

He fired a missile at the frigate, waiting a hair's breath longer than he had with Kyp. The 'Vong ship rolled deftly aside, as if its pilot had been expecting the attack. Han's missile struck one of the skips that trailed protectively in its wake. A shielding singularity swallowed the first assault but Mara finished the job with a quick one-two attack.

Han's face relaxed and his lips curved into an almost-smile. "That's Jaina," he said firmly. "Thousands of pilots can get from here to there in an X-wing, but how many could make a hunk of rock twirl like a Twi'lek dancing girl?"

And I hadn't sensed her – not the Jaina I knew, that is. "Han – "

"Two," he stated, answering his own question and ignoring me. "And I'm the other one."

Uncertain, I reached out to Jaina for confirmation. Again I perceived not the vivacious, impulsive energy I'd always associated with my daughter, but a storm-cloud presence – cool, impending, ruthless.

I frowned. Anger led to the dark side – I'd heard it many times – yet the emotions that ran off Jaina were disturbingly familiar, and very much like my perceptions of my father – not the spectral that had begged forgiveness, but the ruthless and cold Darth Vader.

I hadn't considered the idea that Jaina – the most pragmatic and least complicated of my children – might slip into the Dark side. Unless… More insistently this time, I reached again for Jaina. This time I was swamped with Jaina's rejected pain and her unacknowledged thirst for revenge, heightening my concern.

After Davin's death, Jaina had been a flame of energy, throwing herself into everything and ignoring her grief. She had refused to talk to anyone about "Dav" and I had worried about her. She had tried to pretend nothing had happened, but her pain and anger had been a fire that steadily attempted to consume her. It had exploded most noticeably when Kyp used her to destroy the worldship. Slowly, with each passing day of not speaking of Dav, Jaina's blood seemed to turn to lava and I had been helpless to do anything but watch.

But ice could be as deadly as fire.

The 'Vong had taken Davin, the man Jaina had loved. And now they had taken her brothers. I swallowed, and my hands curled into fists, my knuckles white. Had I lost another child, this time to something far more terrible than death?

"Decide," Han said tersely, breaking into my thoughts. "The Yuuzhan Vong could blame that frigate's manoeuvre on the scrambled yammosk, but sooner or later Jaina's gonna have to pick a side."

Yes, she definitely would – but I wasn't sure I wanted to know which side she would come down on. I switched the comm. to hailing frequency, praying my suspicions were wrong.

"This is Leia Organa Solo aboard the _Millennium Falcon_." I forced my voice to stay strong. "The Yuuzhan Vong frigate nearby is under the command of my daughter, Lieutenant Jaina Solo.'' Who could be under the control of the grief from both Davin's and Anakin's deaths, not to mention Jacen's disappearance. "Her Yuuzhan Vong escort does not realize this. Hold your fire, and we'll see that the frigate escapes, and the coralskippers do not."

For a moment the X-wings remained where they were and my breath caught in my throat. Had they somehow read my fears through my voice? What if they pursued Jaina despite my protests? What if they _should_ bring her down?

Finally, the X-wings pulled away, and the intercom crackled. "Leia, are you sure about this?" Mara asked. "I hate to admit it, but I don't feel Jaina out there."

All the more reason to worry – and Mara didn't even know about Davin. Increasingly unnerved, I glanced at Han, who nodded. I cleared my throat. "We're sure."

I watched as the Yuuzhan Vong frigate shot off in rapid acceleration and disappeared into hyperspace, taking my daughter and all her pent-up pain and her likeness to her grandfather with it. The _Falcon_ followed, following the short jump Leia had programmed.

Han's shoulders slumped and his hand found mine, claimed it. "We did the right thing, didn't we?" he asked, his forehead creasing, trademark grin nowhere to be found. "I mean, letting a potential enemy go?"

A potential enemy. Force, Han would never know how true those words could be.

I met Han's eyes and saw the rare self-doubt there. "That was Jaina," I asserted. It was what he needed to hear.

His eyes sharpened. "Then why do you look so worried?"

For a moment I was tempted to share my doubts, to see if they would be nonsense once I spoke them. But if I was wrong…giving Han's that seed of doubt would be cruel. Jaina was the child he understood best, the one that followed him around, the one that held him the longest as a child before she went to sleep, the one that took to his talents. He would grieve terribly if Jaina was killed, but he would come to terms with it in time. This, though – this suspicion, this darkness, he could never comprehend.

I swallowed and turned away, unable to answer. But in my silence I was painfully aware that Jaina was Darth Vader's granddaughter.

_Jaina…wherever you are…don't do something stupid. Please._

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**-Tjz**


	9. My Son, the Stranger

**My Son, the Stranger**

(Soontir's POV)

I turn away from the viewport to study the young man standing at stiff attention in front of my desk. He wears the formal black uniform of the Syndic Mitth'raw'nuruodo's household phalanx and the insignia of a colonel. His black hair is cut short, exposing the entire length of the scar that runs up from his right eyebrow and well into his hairline. A thin streak of white hair follows the path of that scar, as if to emphasize the maturity that that came too soon and at a great price.

For a little over two years, the colonel has been a stranger to me – he has become hardened and even cold. He executes each duty perfectly and brings quiet praise from the Chiss. He commands his squadron exceptionally well and holds the respect of those under him.

But I would give anything to see him as he once was, before he became this…militaristic shell of my son. What would Thrawn have to say about that?

"We have had this discussion before, Colonel," I comment, eyeing Jag carefully. "This phalanx is committed to the same goals you've espoused. We responded at Garqi. We fought at Ithor. The Imperial command recalled Admiral Pellaeon after that debacle, with what they considered to be good reason. Given the outcome of that engagement and the withdrawal of Imperial support, I saw little value in committing phalanx squadrons."

"I disagree." Jag bows to emphasize that his words express an opinion, not disrespect. "I will concede that no one, not the New Republic nor the Imperial forces nor the Chiss, could counter the biological weapons that destroyed Ithor. The presence of this household's phalanx had no impact on this outcome. Ithor, however, was the only world utterly destroyed. The invaders have followed more conventional tactics in their subsequent conquests."

You'd think he was talking to a stranger and not his own father. At least Syal can't hear him – she's always reminded of Davin and Lissa when she notices that her 'baby' has withdrawn so much from the family.

"And therin lies the problem," I reply. "How successful were you and your Rogue Squadron allies in fending off any of these conquests through 'conventional tactics'?"

Jag's lips thin, a sign that he is frustrated. The only signal, these days. "My two squadrons were recalled shortly after Ithor, sir. We had neither the time nor the opportunity to make an appreciable difference. This is not an excuse, sir, but simple fact."

Is his constant use of "sir" a way of distancing himself from me? "Two squadrons," I repeat. "Twenty-four clawcraft and a beacon ship. How much difference could this force have made at Ord Mantell? Or Duro? Hundreds, possibly thousands of worlds are under Yuuzhan Vong control." And how much of a difference will you manage to make, Jag, before you're shot down like your older brother and sister? How much more will your mother crumble?

"With respect, sir, I was commissioned in this household to serve and uphold the ideals of Grand Admiral Thrawn."

"Which did not, I might point out, include stupidity," I observe coldly. "I expected better of you – a not uncommon dynamic between fathers and sons." A low blow, perhaps, but a necessary one. Jag can't keep pushing everyone away; he can't keep ignoring everything but the military.

Jag acknowledges the reprimand with a small bow and a wry smile that is a ghost of the flashing of teeth from his childhood. Another casualty of the constant wars and invasions in the Unknown Regions.

"You were trained by Chiss tacticians," I continue. "Tell me: do we have the ships, weaponry, personnel, or for that matter the knowledge needed to take on these invaders?"

"We do not," Jag admits. "Permission to speak freely?"

I lift one hand in a gesture of assent. It is gladly given.

"Chiss sages conclude that the Yuuzhan Vong must have spent generations traveling between galaxies. These invaders are not likely to consider the so-called Unknown Regions a daunting prospect."

"I agree," I say, nodding. So, Jag _had_ been listening to Davin's fevered chatter about the 'Vong and the New Republic. Interesting. "The Chiss parliament does not, and neither do the Imperial leaders. The invasion path has swept steadily toward the Core Worlds, leading many to believe that the invaders will bypass both Chiss and Imperial territory entirely."

As Jag absorbs this, his pale green eyes narrow and his jaw squares. I have seen that look many times – but not on Jag. My vision blurs and for a moment I see Davin standing before me instead of Jag. Blinking, I brush it aside for later.

"This phalanx has never been ruled by the thinking of tradition-bound Chiss senators," Jag says almost haughtily, "or by Imperial politicians whose first concern is personal power. Was a change-of-policy holocube issued during my recent absence?"

My eyebrows lift and I give my son a look. Bold words, those – and incredibly rude. Jag inclines his head in a bow that holds acknowledgement of his impropriety but no apology.

Very interesting.

"Chiss society pretends that Syndic Mitth'raw'nuruodo does not exist, but they know quite well that we are out here. They send their sons and daughters to this phalanx's academies and bases. They were more than willing to accept the protection and technology that Thrawn's conquests and alliances offered them, and they are willing to accept what we, successors to the grand admiral's goals, can do for them.

"But we could to more." Jag takes a step forward, his expression intense and his formality forgotten. I find myself pleasantly surprised, but just as quickly suspicious. Why would Jag shed the stoicism of the Chiss for the New Republic? He has never paid it attention before. Does it have something to do with Davin? Knowing Jag and the way he idolized – idolizes – his brother, probably. But is there something else? Something that adds to it?

"You know what we have faced out here," Jag continues passionately. "The Yuuzhan Vong might have caught Borsk Fey'lya and his ilk unaware but the Chiss have long expected something of this nature. In fact, we have turned aside foes that might have swept across the galaxy and left little for these new invaders to destroy!"

My eyes narrow and my lips purse as I consider Jag and his unexpectedly ardent words. "You speak of yourself as one of the Chiss. Do you see yourself in that light?" Because you certainly aren't thinking like one.

He blinks, put off stride by this seeming non sequitur. "It is difficult to do otherwise," he says carefully. "I was raised among the Chiss, trained with them. Their rules and standards and expectations became my own."

"You met and exceeded these standards, and as a result you command your former Chiss peers," I continue. "With rank comes responsibility. The course you propose shows little sense of responsibility for the pilots under your command." And even less for what you want to do to your mother. Ktah, Jag – do you even know what you're asking? I know Davin did, but you…you're living your brother's dreams, with no realization of why Davin _really_ wanted to help the New Republic. You don't even have the experience!

Jag's face becomes impassive and his bearing subtly returns to his formal, military stance. "Sir, may I request that you list my failings plainly, so that I may address them."

An image of a brandy-eyed girl that comforted Syal after Davin's death through her own grief springs to mind. Davin would have fought for you, Jaina Solo. Do you know that?

"Do you know how to stop the Yuuzhan Vong?" I ask the colonel in front of me.

A hint of a frown touches Colonel Fel's forehead. "No, sir."

Davin didn't have time to help the woman he loved the way he wanted to. There were a lot of things he didn't have the time to do. How much time does Jag have left? Can I deny him the chance to spend his life doing what he wants to do, even if he is only taking on his brother's convictions?

I make a quick decision. "Then go find out. Report back. Once we've a better grasp of tactics and strategy, you'll have your squadrons back, and more besides."

Jag's eyes widen and flick to my face. "Yes, sir!"

Will you be that enthusiastic when you see it all, Jag? Will even a fleck of my son be left when you return? I grimace and tap a small metal cube on my desk. "You might not be quite so eager to hear this report." But you can be no less deflated than I was, or than Davin would have been, no matter how hard you try to step into your brother's shoes. "This holovid just came in from our agents in the Core. It contains, among other things, a recording of Leia Organa Solo's exhortation of the defenders of Coruscant. She urged them not to give up, as she has not, despite the recent death of one of her children."

This time Jag's gaze shifts fully to me. "Which one?"

I lift one eyebrow. "Excuse me?" Jag, don't you dare tell me you're taking on the emotions of your brother, too…

"Which of Ambassador Solo's children fell in battle?"

"Anakin, I believe. The younger son." I believe. Ktah, I should _know_. Intelligent guesses – Leia would have called, if anything happened to Jaina, Rogue Squadron would have had a ceremony – aren't good enough. So what if you have the impression that it was a son that fell, Soontir? Your wife won't leave the holo phone until she has solid proof.

Jag nods thoughtfully and something very akin to relief appears on his face. Sithspawn. Jag, I'm warning you… "Was there any news of the other two?"

Jag, that question had better be caused by concern for the New Republic as a whole and not just the pretty daughter of Han Solo… "You have met the Solo twins, I take it?" Other than at the funeral, of course; I'm not blind, you hated her then.

"Jacen, no. Jaina Solo is a pilot with Rogue Squadron."

"Ah." Ktah. Sithspawn kriffing bantha fodder ktah. "I was wondering why such momentous news as Coruscant's fall went over your head with a meter to spare." Why do I have the feeling that a very serious father-son talk is in order?

A faint colour suffuses Jag's face and a faintly puzzled expression flickers in his eyes. Apparently Jag is also somewhat unclear on that point.

Jag quickly veers away from his uncharacteristic tangent and back onto a more familiar vector. "Coruscant was not only attacked, but captured?"

I watch him carefully. "It would so appear. This leads us to your next assignment." Which is not making a move on your big brother's almost-fiancée. "In recent years, the New Republic has been characterized by increasing dissent. The loss of their central seat could polariaze them for a very long time."

I fall silent and study the stranger before me. At least before I could fall back on my understanding of the military and thus my son. But if my suspicions are correct, will I have a handle on who Jag is ever again? "You will be flying straight into a maelstrom."

He glances pointedly toward the viewport and the ice storm beyond. He has Davin's cockiness. How will Jaina see him? "This is what I was trained to do, no more," Jag says confidently.

"Then it's settled." I rise and hand a single holocube to my son. "This contains the most recent military updates, as well as the specs on the new ships you'll be flying. I'll leave the selection of pilots to you."

"Shawnkyr Nuruodo, my second in command, will accompany me." Seeing my protest, Jag's chin comes up sharply. "You admonished me about responsibility, sir and rightly so. I'm honoured to scout for Syndic Mitth'raw'nuruodo, but I would rather not risk Chiss pilots needlessly. In all likelihood, we will need every one of them here."

"What about Shawnkyr?"

A fleeting smile curves Jag's lips. "Shawnkyr is a true member of a renegade phalanx, sir. She would not stay behind if I ordered her to."

It occurs to me that Shawnkyr going along with my potentially addled-brain son might be the best and only thing I can do. Shawnkyr knew Davin and knows about Davin and Jaina's relationship. She wouldn't let Jag do anything inappropriate – I could even have a small talk with her about it… "I see. A wise leader always tries to give orders that are likely to be followed. Why do you think I'm sending you?"

We clasp hands briefly and I squeeze a little tighter than necessary, hoping he'll remember the grip that could be around his neck if he comes back with Jaina for anything other than platonic reasons. Jag's eyes flicker with faint confusion before he steps back and offers a crisp, formal bow.

I watch Jag stride out the door – a sight that is becoming more and more familiar. When Jag is gone I sink back into my chair; my shoulders slump and my expression becomes bleak.

There's no keeping Jag away from what's happening – especially not if he believes he's living the life Davin never got the chance to have. I know what Jag is likely to face and I know he can face it, because he isn't just my son anymore. He is Colonel Jagged Fel – Spike Leader; too old to have Syal sing him to sleep anymore, too old to read Yiven bedtime stories.

He's almost an adult and can defend himself against almost any physical enemy, but does Jag understand how a grieving woman could see Davin through him? Can he see how easy it will be to look at Jaina and see a connection to his brother? Will he ever?

I rise and begin to pace. I've never turned away from duty and I won't make an exception now. But…Jag is still my son, though he is becoming a stranger. I don't want to find out if my family can survive yet another loss so soon.

What am I going to tell Syal?

_

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_Please RR!_

**-Tjz**


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